© Copyright 2003
This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If you're not both of those, don't read it. Characters in a FANTASY don't get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't live in a FANTASY so be safe. The fictional characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.
If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.
This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
My weekend guest had arrived early from Pullman and was comfortably ensconced in my dungeon. She was properly bound, but with one hand free to select from the array of sex toys I had placed within reach for her use as she watched a pre-programmed series of porn DVD's. I had promised her she could play with my slave, Amy, when she arrived later, but didn't want her wandering around the house since I was expecting some guys over for poker later that evening.
I was hoping Amy would arrive early so I could get her and her vehicle out of sight before the guys arrived. We live in a small, scattered community where everyone knows everyone else, and while it was no secret that Amy and I were seeing each other, I doubt that anyone would have liked knowing that, in private, she was my slave.
Amy solved that problem for me by calling to tell me she couldn't come - her mother was sick and needed Amy there to take care of her. While I was relieved that I wouldn't have to juggle Amy's arrival with that of the guys, it left me with the problem of what to do with my guest in the dungeon.
I was in my workshop putting a final polish on the custom made wooden dildo I had promised the mayor's wife. It was twelve inches long, quite thick, and a veritable caricature of a male erection. The basic material was ebony and the head was almost half again as wide as the shaft. Dark red veins, made of raised cherrywood inlays created an intricate network around the shaft. Even the attached ball sack, while hairless, seemed to bulge with cum-filled testicles under the crinkled surface of the scrotum. While beautiful to look at, most women would have found this toy somewhat intimidating to use, but the mayor's wife was a big, strapping woman, and I knew she'd have little trouble taking full advantage of it.
As I put the artificial phallus in a locked cabinet to let the waterproof finish dry, Caesar, one of my Timber Wolf - Malamute mix dogs, flowed through the door of the workshop like a big grey ghost and sat at my feet facing the front of the lot where a dirt track came up from the main road. He placed his right paw on my leg to be sure that I knew someone was coming. From his demeanor, I knew it was not a vehicle he'd seen before, so I went through the back door of the house and waited in the shadows of my home's interior to get a first look at the visitor without being seen. I don't have a lot of enemies, but occasionally, one of my guests decides that he or she would rather not know the things I'd shown them about themselves, and comes back to vent their displeasure, so I'm careful.
I didn't recognize the Lexus that pulled into the clearing. It sported a small religious statuette on the dash and a license plate frame from a dealer in Pleasanton, California. Nor did I recognize the trim, well-dressed Filipina who slid out of the driver's door. The car had California plates, and the woman seemed a bit older than my usual "clientele", so I waited in the shadows a bit to see if I could get some idea of what she wanted before confronting her. She checked something on a piece of paper, smoothed the travel wrinkles out of her clothes, adjusted her frameless glasses, and looked nervously about the clearing before squaring her shoulders and climbing the porch stairs to knock on my screen door.
She wore a large diamond ring, diamond pendant, and diamond earrings (for traveling, in the middle of the day!). Her Gucci shoes were a bit dusty from the walk across the clearing. Unless I missed my guess, she wore an Ann Taylor suit from last year's line, and carried a Dooney & Bourke knockoff for a handbag. Her hair was almost boy-cut - short and tapered sharply to her neckline. This was a woman who dressed not to attract men, but to impress other women.
She seemed more nervous than angry, so I came to the door as if I had just heard her knock.
"Can I help you?"
Nervously, she consulted the paper again. "Uh, yes. I'm looking for a Mr. Mike Brenneman?"
"Whom shall I say is calling?"
"Oh! My name is Marietta Jameison."
"How can I help you Mrs. Jameison?" I still hadn't opened the screen.
"I'm not sure... Are you Mr. Brenneman?"
At my nod she looked nervously around the clearing again, and said, "My, ah my daughter, Vanessa, said I should talk to you."
"About what?" I knew Vanessa Jameison, but to the best of my knowledge, she was quite happy with what we did together. I could think of no reason why she would send her mother to visit me.
"It's, ah, it's very hard to say, Mr. Brenneman. She said you might, ah, be able to help me?" she had reached for something in her handbag and started playing with it absent-mindedly.
I smiled as I saw the rosary trailing from her fingers.
I pushed open the screen door, saying "Won't you come inside, Mrs. Jameison? May I get you something to drink? Wine? Soft drink? Cocktail?"
She stepped into the cool interior and said, "Uh, just ice water is ok."
I waved her to a chair in my 'sitting room' and said, "I'll bring ice water if that's what you really want, but if what you came to talk about is so serious as to require a rosary, perhaps a little alcohol will make it easier... ?"
She looked down, and for the first time noticed the glass beads automatically crawling through her fingers in that pre-programmed sequence that lifelong Catholics know by heart.
She gave an embarrassed little giggle, put the rosary away, and nodded her head. "Maybe some white wine, then, if you have some?"
I nodded and left her alone while I went to the kitchen to retrieve our drinks. I had a nice bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the refrigerator so I opened it and filled a bucket with ice and water, toting the bucket and two glasses into the living room with me.
I poured a taste in her glass and offered it to her. She took a small sip and swallowed, hardly tasting the wine, but nodded affirmatively.
I went ahead and filled the glasses, settling into a chair across from her. I had thought about bringing out a plate of cheeses to snack on, but I wanted her to loosen up a bit, and the wine would do its work more quickly if she didn't have anything in her stomach.
"So how does Vanessa think I can help you, Marietta?"
She fidgeted in the chair and played with the wine glass, finally taking a gulp before answering, "I - I don't really know! We were talking the last time she was home from school, and she said she knew someone that might be able to help me - she didn't say how."
"So you drove all the way up here from the Bay Area to see me? It must be very important!"
She shook her head vigorously, "Oh no! No, no! I came to surprise my daughter at school, but her roommate said she was visiting friends for the weekend, and I thought, since I was already here, maybe I should see if you COULD help!"
"Which brings us back to the original question," I replied, "'How can I help?'"
Marietta was holding something back, and I was guessing, given my reputation at her daughter's school, and her Catholic upbringing, that it had something to do with sex, but it began to look as though I might have to drag it out of her.
"I don't know!" she repeated, frustration showing in her voice, "my daughter didn't say!"
"Well," I tried, "if we can't get to 'how', maybe we can get to what you need help with?"
She drank some more of the wine and tried to avoid looking at me, but her eyes kept darting back to my face, and then away again, so I tried a different tack.
"Perhaps it would help if I knew what you and Vanessa were discussing when she told you about me?"
She stood and started pacing in front of her chair, then turned to face me, as if having made a decision. Her face, already a light shade of brown, turned darker as she softly mumbled, "Sex!"
"Did I understand you correctly?" I asked, "You DID say 'sex' didn't you?"
At her embarrased nod, I continued, "Ah, now we're getting somewhere! What, specifically, about sex were you discussing?"
I could barely hear her reply "I, ah, I have a, ah, problem."
"What kind of problem?" this was like pulling hen's teeth, but patience is a virtue, or so I'm told. I'm more accustomed to dealing with younger, less inhibited folks.
She paced some more, polishing off the wine. I refilled her glass, hoping the wine would start doing away with some of her inhibitions soon.
"What kind of problem?" I repeated.
She drank some more wine and I waited, watching her steel herself for the big one. Finally, she turned to me, saying, "I haven't enjoyed sex since before I was married!"
.... There is more of this story ...